


Where They Grew

by Volant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Love/Hate, angry sex at some point probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volant/pseuds/Volant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime and Brienne were childhood friends. "Were" being the operative term. So when they meet again in high school, and are forced to work together on a school project, neither of them are happy about it. But with all those late nights in the library, and research-slash-lunch-breaks, something has got to give...doesn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Golden Years

_Kindergarten was a simpler time. Jaime loved the way that the desks were arranged in a circle, around the rainbow colored rug, so that they could all see each other and talk and laugh together. It was the first time since daycare that he’d been separated from Cersei (she was just the next room over, but it was still strange) but there were so many other children that he didn’t have time to feel lonely. His favorite part of the day was when his nanny dropped him off at the front door of the classroom, and he’d be left to play with Robb, Brienne, Pod, and whoever else had been dropped off early as well. Their favorite game to play was Kingsguard, complete with coloring-pencil swordfights and a crumpled paper crown for Pod. He was the designated king, mostly because he always cried if he got poked with a pencil, but he did a good job of giving orders, anyway._

_Their teacher, Miss Olenna, always scolded them, but only when she’d finished laughing. Brienne didn’t like that; even if she knew it didn’t really mean anything, getting in trouble still scared her and it always took Jaime a whole day of finger painting and alphabet puzzles to convince her to play with them tomorrow. She could never say no to him, which he thought was a good thing because in the midst of their schoolroom battles, she never failed to come to his aid…even if she did choose to sit next to Sansa instead of him during class._

_That day, they were all sitting on that rainbow colored rug. Miss Olenna stood beside the whiteboard at the front of the classroom, and held up a large, multicolored sign._

_“Okay,” she said, and blew a wisp of white hair out of her face. “Today we’re going to run through our numbers. If you guys can make it to a hundred, you’ll all get a treat, okay?”_

_A chorus of “okays” roared up from the room of five year olds. Brienne’s was the loudest; it always was, even from where she sat safely in the back row. Jaime turned around and winked at her; she hated it, but it always made her turn the funniest pink color, so he didn’t care. Today she glared at him even as Sansa leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and was too distracted after that to wink back at him like she usually did._

_“Jaime, eyes in front,” Olenna reminded him gently. He turned around reluctantly, and pouted his way through the first one hundred numbers._

_After school, Jaime found Brienne in the crowd of kids waiting for their parents on the sidewalk. Their nannies had worked out a carpool for the afternoons that Cersei had ballet lessons, because she wass too young to go alone, and Jaime got bored waiting in the studio for two hours. Even at five years old, Brienne towered over him, but her smile was so wide that he didn’t really mind._

_“Ser Brienne,” he said, and they nod at each other the way that the knights always did on TV._

_“Ser Jaime,” she replie, blue eyes narrowing solemnly._

_They burst out laughing, and didn’t stop until the car pulled up. They climbed into the back, and helped buckle each other into their car seats as they drove away._


	2. The Present Is Not A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in High School, Jaime and Brienne encounter each other for the first time in years, with interesting effects.

_“And then,” Jaime said as he dunked an Oreo cookie into a glass of milk, “They chopped off his_ hand!”

            _Brienne stared at him, mouth open wide. “No way,” she said. “His whole hand?”_

_“Yeah! Blood spurting everywhere! So cool.”_

_“It sounds gross to me.”_

_“Yeah,” Jaime shrugged. “I guess. But it all turned out okay.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Mhmm. Him and his squire ended up saving the princess, and the kingdom, and lived happy ever after.”_

_“I wish my dad would let me watch that stuff,” Brienne sighed. “He says I’m too young.”_

_“Just come over to my place someday,” Jaime shrugged. “My dad doesn’t care.”_

X

            “Gods,” Sansa rolled her eyes and pointed across the cafeteria. “Grant us the strength to deal with these assholes. Amen.”

            “Not again,” Brienne twisted in her seat and groaned. “Every fucking Friday.”

            The pair watched as the troop of football players stormed the lunch line, pushing freshman and other weaker parties out of the way in their mass haste to reach the front of the line.

            “We should move,” Brienne said when they finally tear their gaze away from the ensuing chaos. Sansa glanced down at the mostly empty table—the only one in the cafeteria— and nodded.

            “Solid idea,” she agreed, and scarfed down the last of her tofurkey sandwich. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

            Brienne palmed a whole-wheat roll—History always made her hungry—and slung her backpack across her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.”

            They made a quick escape, stopping to dump their leftovers into the trash bin before making a beeline for the library doors. Brienne shouldered her way through the crowd, muttering “sorry” beneath her breath every time she bumped into somebody. She didn’t see Jaime Lannister, standing in line with Hyle and Addam, until it was too late.

            She felt her shoulder make contact and twisted back to apologize.

            “So—“

            “Tarth,” he interrupted, and brushed his shaggy blond hair out of his green eyes. Brienne paused. They hadn’t had a class together since the fifth grade; she hadn’t thought that he even remembered her name. Hadn’t thought he’d want to, but here they were, staring at each other…there _he_ was, doing most of the staring. She swallowed.

            “Sorry, Lannister,” she apologized, and cleared her throat. “See you around.”

            _We will_ , she thought as she rejoined Sansa and they dumped their bags beside the checkout desk. They were in the same History class, after all—it was practically inevitable.

            “What was that?” Sansa hissed as they slid into the Fiction section of the stacks. “Do my eyes deceive me, or was that Jaime you were talking to?”

            “I don’t know,” Brienne shook her head. “Holy shit, I don’t know.”

            “I thought you two didn’t talk anymore.”

            “I almost knocked him over, I couldn’t just walk away.”

            “Did he _recognize_ you?”

            “Well, he said my name, so…”

            “Shit, Brienne.”

            “It’s fine,” Brienne took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “We’re adults now. Almost. We can be civil to each other. It’s not like he’s going to try to talk to me again, anyway.”

X

            It wasn’t that Jaime hadn’t seen her around. They both lived in the same town, went to the same school…it couldn’t be avoided, really. He’d seen her—in the lunchroom, every Friday; in the very back corner of his AP History class; in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of Sansa’s VW Bug and checking her watch while she waited for her friend to get out of cheer practice…oh yes, Jaime’d seen Brienne.

            “Every time I turn the fuck around, there she is,” he griped to Tyrion on the way home from school that afternoon. “Like she’s _trying_ to piss me off.”

            “Right,” Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Remind me…when was the last time you two talked?”

            “This afternoon, after she almost knocked me flat on my ass.”

            “Before that, dumbass.”

            “Like…” Jaime paused at a stop sign and counted off on his fingers. “Six or seven years? I don’t know. Before Middle School.”

            “Uh-huh,” Tyrion sighed. “And you two’ve been avoiding each other ever since.”

            “Right,” Jaime blew through a yellow light. “Until today. When she fucking rammed into me. Shit, Tyrion, she’s gotta be like…six three? She’s massive. I almost didn’t recognize her.”

            “You realize this is the third time you’ve told me all this to me, right?” Tyrion said. “Since school got out. Fifteen minutes ago. I probably have a better grasp on your weird obsession with this chick then you do.”

            “I’m not obsessed with her.”

            “Oh yeah. It’s not like you’ve been moaning about her nonstop for the last few months. At all.”

            “Tyrion, really?”

            “Oh, I saw Brienne at lunch today, I hate her _so_ much. Brienne walked by me today, and her eyes are so blue I wanted to _puke_. Brienne’s in the same class as me, Tyrion, what do I do? Brienne’s taller than me, which _shouldn’t_ turn me on but totally _does_ …”

            “That’s not even funny.”

            “As much as I wish I had the time and willpower to listen to your weird grade-school drama, I’ve got my own problems to worry about.”

            “Said the freshman nerd.”

            “To his incestuously challenged sibling.”

            Jaime flipped his brother the bird. “Fuck off.”

            “Ouch. My feelings are so hurt. However will I recover?”

            Jaime turned down their street and pulled into the driveway of the Lannister house. The three-story brick monster of a building threw a shadow over the car and Tyrion sighed.

            “Well, as previously stated, if I had the time to spare, I’d love to listen to the rest of your tragic tale, brother, but as it happens…”

            “What, your World of Warcraft group’s having an emergency meeting?”

            “If only. I’ve got math homework.” Tyrion shrugged and slid out of his seat, slamming the door behind him.

            Jaime watched his stunted brother walk up the steps of the house and open the front door.

            “Damn it,” he muttered, and slammed the heels of his hands against the steering wheel hard enough to make the car shake. “Damn it!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for your enthusiastic response to this project! I can't wait to read your reviews for the coming chapters, and I'm really excited to keep working on it.


	3. Crash and Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has a bad day and Jaime makes an assumption.

_“Your house is e-nor-muss!” Brienne squeals when Jaime’s Aunt Genna opens the door. She shrugs off her oversized gold coat and shakes the woman’s hand matter-of-factly, but smiles at Jaime the whole time. She’s wearing a bright pink blouse that makes her seem paler than she really is. It makes the freckles on her face easier to pick out, though, and somehow makes her eyes look even bigger and bluer…_

_Jaime grabs for his Aunt Genna’s hand and ducks behind her._

_“Hi,” he chokes out._

_“Why’re you hiding?” Brienne asks, and around to poke him in the ribs like she does during their kindergarten battles. “It’s only me.”_

_“I’m not!” Jaime grumbles, and jabs her back. She laughs._

_“Come on, kids,” Aunt Genna grins and pries them apart. “No roughhousing in the foyer. The snacks are this way,” and herds them off down the hallway._

X

            The house was empty when Brienne got home from school. It was no surprise—her dad had been on vacation in Dorne with his new girlfriend for the last week—but it’s anything but welcome. She kicked off her shoes and turns the TV onto one of those chatty infomercial channels. It hummed in the background while she ate leftover tuna casserole and caught up on her math homework.

            She was dozing off in her father’s soft, sagging armchair when her cell phone vibrated against her thigh and startled her awake.

            “You will not _believe_ what I just found out,” Sansa said when Brienne picked up.

            “What?” Brienne yawned. “Did Arya and Gendry finally come clean to your parents?”

            “No, it’s even better. Guess.”

            “Does it have to do with that hot mechanic you keep talking about?”

            “Only a little bit. Okay, a lot. Okay…”

            “Just put me out of my misery, why don’t you?”

            “What if I told _you_ that Renly told _me_ that there was going to be a party this Friday night?”

            “I would ask what kind of party he told you it’s going to be…”

            “The free-alcoholic-beverages kind of party.”

            Brienne turned the volume on the television down. “And he said that your car guru is going to be there?”

            “Be there?” Sansa laughed. “He’s the one bringing the keg.”

            “And you want me to go with you.”

            “Well…” Sansa sighed. “It’s way up in the canyon. At night. I know you hate these things…”

            “But you can’t tell anyone else and you’re hoping I’ll make an exception.”

            “It’s a classic pop culture trope. You couldn’t pass it up if you tried.”

            “How do you know I don’t already have plans?”

            Sansa laughed. “Your idea of a good weekend is staying home and re-watching the fifth season of Greyjoy’s Anatomy.”

            “You know me too well.”

            “So…is that a yes?”

X

            “Practice tonight,” Addam said, and gave Jaime’s chair a kick. “Coach says you can’t miss another one or you’ll be suspended for the next game.”

            “That’s bullshit,” Jaime kicked back. “I’ve only missed twice.”

            “Yesterday was a strategy night. Counts for three.”

            Jaime groaned. “No way.”

            “I tried to call you.”

            “I bet Stark was pissed.”

            “When isn’t she?” Addam shrugged and stood up as the bell rang and signaled the beginning of class.

            Jaime leaned back and folded his arms across his chest as Mr. Mormont trudged up to the front of the classroom and began writing practice test dates on the whiteboard. Eight rows back, he could hear the telltale squeak of Brienne Tarth’s sneaker against the smooth white tile of the classroom. She’d never broken the habit of swinging one long leg beneath her desk during class.

            “Now,” Mormont was saying, “As the test dates grow nearer, so will the urgency with which you should be studying. And because I know that many of you will leave this task until the day before the test…” he paused as some students laughed or nodded in agreement. “…I’ve taken it upon myself to separate you into study groups of three or four. I will be giving your group weekly assignments to ensure that you will be sufficiently prepared. The paper’s already being passed around. Make sure to take down the names of those in your group and exchange emails after class.”

            Jaime rolled his eyes and scribbled the test dates down in his notebook as the students passed the group paper around and Mormont resumed a days-old lesson on Old Valyria. When the girl next to him passed him the papers containing the groups, he glanced through, searching for his name.

            “Podrick Payne,” he muttered when he finally did spot a ‘Lannister’ in the mix, “Hyle Hunt…and…”

            He glanced over his shoulder. Brienne was there, shoulders hunched and blonde hair hanging in a golden halo around her face as she scratched out a copy of the Targaryen family tree. She was chewing on her bottom lip, and—sure enough—he could see the tip of her tennis shoe swing in and out of sight in his peripheral vision.

            The corners of his mouth twitched, and he slid the paper onto the desk of the person behind him.

X

            “Well this is a fucking nightmare,” Sansa swore as she led Brienne through the crowd of students and towards the locker room. “Paired up with not one, but two certified assholes. And that poor shy Payne kid. You’re so incredibly screwed.”

            “I like Pod, at least,” Brienne said, and adjusted the strap of her backpack against her shoulder. “And it’s only a weekly assignment. It’s not that bad.”

            “You didn’t see him turn around and smile at you,” Sansa griped. “I mean…I mean, _shit_ , Brienne, I’ll talk to Mormont and you won’t have to deal with him. I swear…three months until graduation and you would’ve been out of the city and away from this goddamn shitstorm of a school.”

            They ducked through the open doorway and into the dark, humid room filled with gym lockers.

            “It just pisses me off. And Mormont won’t give you a break—even though you’ve got some of the highest practice scores out of anyone—because it would screw up his fucking system.” Sansa gave the tumbler of her lock a spin. “I swear to God if they do anything— _anything_ —to you, I’ll kick their collective _ass_.”

            “I know you will,” Brienne said. “Don’t wait for me after practice. I think I’m just going to walk home.” Sometime after she’d marked down the names of the people in her group, she’d begun to develop a pounding headache—one that somehow didn’t feel as though it could be fixed by throwing out a swing of swear words the way Sansa could.

            “You sure?” Sansa frowned. “It’s a long walk.”

            “How do you think I got these legs?” Brienne forced a laugh. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get some exercise.”

            Sansa started to unbutton her shirt. “You’ll call me when you get home?”

            “Yeah.” Brienne turned to go.

            “And I don’t mean text. I mean a literal phone call containing a “hello,” a “this is how I’m processing things” and a pleasant “goodbye.”

            “I still don’t get why you’re so into the phone calls.”

            “Well, any serial killer worth his salt can _text_ ,” Sansa grinned. “Just think of it as social immersion therapy. Prep for the party this Friday.”

            “Whatever,” Brienne rolled her eyes, but smiled.

            “I can tell you’re excited.”

            “Keep telling yourself that.”

            The walk back to Brienne’s home was what Sansa liked to refer to as “scenic.” The Tarth house sat on the very edge of town, at the point where the road became more gravel than asphalt and there were more horses and fields than there were houses in the neighborhood. The animals, at least, were friendly; Brienne had paused on her route to feed one such horse the slivers of apple leftover from her lunch when a sleek red car slowed to a stop behind her and the window rolled down.

            “Tarth!” a voice—a familiar voice, a _Lannister_ voice—called.

            The horse started away at the sudden noise, and Brienne tossed the rest of the apple into the field, just as she raised her eyes skyward in a silent prayer.

            “I know you can hear me,” Jaime yelled again. “I couldn’t find you after school.”

            “That’s because I wasn’t there,” Brienne said in a mock-patient tone as she turned around.

            “Yeah, I figured that part out,” Jaime rolled his eyes and beckoned her over to the passenger side of the car. “I wanted to talk to you about this group study thing.”

            “I don’t really think there’s much to say,” Brienne said, and pursed her lips as she bent down to look Jaime squarely in the face. “We do the assignment, we turn it in, we get graded. That’s usually how it works with stuff like this.”

            “Wow.” Jaime’s eyebrows shot up and Brienne was given a firsthand reminder of just how green his eyes actually were. “Someone’s not in a good mood.”

            “It flew the coop about the time I realized I’d have to talk to you again.”

            “Shit, Tarth.” Jaime pressed a hand over his heart and feigned a hurt expression. “You wound me.”

            Brienne sighed. “Right. What did you really come out here for?”

            “I told you. I want to know what the plan is.” Jaime cleared his throat and actually had the decency to look sincere. “For the group study. See if there’s anything I can…help with.”

            “Help with?” It was Brienne’s turn to look shocked. “Jaime Lannister. Offering to help someone. That’s rich.” She straightened up and began to walk away.

            “Hey,” Jaime leaned out of his window. “Where are you going?”

            “Home,” Brienne said, and waved a hand in the air without looking back. “If you want to talk to me, do it in class, Kingslayer.”

            “Fine,” Jaime said. He revved the engine of his car, and 

            Brienne’s voice was shaking when she made the call to Sansa twenty minutes later.

            “Are you crying?” Sansa asked, when Brienne finished talking.

            “No,” Brienne said. “But I don't think I can work with Lannister.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for all your enthusiastic comments and kudos--they're much appreciated! Sorry for all the angst in these chapters...I promise I'll get to the fun stuff soon :)
> 
> EDIT: Went through and changed maybe the last paragraph so Jaime's less of an asshole.


	4. Mediation

_Summer break is good, because it means that Jaime and Brienne can spend entire days together. She always comes to his house--walks, or gets dropped off by her new nanny, an old woman who looks like she’s constantly chugging lemon juice. Brienne doesn’t like to talk about her._

_Cersei’s always busy, and Jaime’s almost glad that she’s never around when Brienne is. He doesn’t think they’d get along._

_Jaime’s favorite days are when they convince Genna to take them to the local pool. He and Brienne race along the width of the pool for hours, doggy-paddling in the three-foot-deep water. Brienne always wins. Jaime always blames it on her long legs. She just laughs, and tells him to grow faster._

**X  
  
**

“Ms. Tarth, as much as I appreciate your honesty, removing your from your group just isn’t possible.”

Mr. Mormont gives Brienne a small, sympathetic smile and shakes his head. He’d explained it well enough--if he let Brienne work alone, other people would think it was okay as well, and he couldn’t have that. Brienne had told him that if he’d just move her to another group, any other group…

But that wasn’t possible either.

Brienne stood and walked out of the classroom to the sound of her teacher’s pen scratching against paper. Sansa was waiting outside the door, leaning against the metal wall of tan-colored lockers.

“Well?” Sansa asks. Brienne shook her head. “Damn.”

“It’s fine,” Brienne says. She shrugs her broad shoulders. “It’s only a couple months, until the end of the semester. I can do that.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Sansa places a hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “We can talk to administration, if you want.”

“Jaime’s not bullying me.” At least, Brienne doesn’t think it’s bullying. Bullies didn’t offer to give their victims a ride home, did they?

“Maybe not anymore,” Sansa says. “But I remember elementary school just fine, thanks.”

“Tarth,” someone shouts from down the hall.

“Speak of the devil,” Sansa says, and turns on her heel. “Fuck off, Lannister!”

“Wasn’t talking to you, Stark,” Jaime says when he reaches them. He’s smiling, but he watches Brienne like he’s worried she’ll run away. “We’re trying to set up times for that study group, and I wanted to know when you’re free, wench.”

“Brienne,” Brienne says. Jaime shrugs and looks at her expectantly. He’s almost as tall as Brienne is. “Tuesdays and Thursdays, anytime.”

“Great,” Jaime says. He nods. “And Mormont said it might be a good idea to exchange emails or phone numbers so we can work out anything that comes up…”

“I--”

“She doesn’t have a phone,” Sansa says. She steps forward so that she’s between Jaime and Brienne. “You can get her email on class time. We’ve got to go.”

Jaime glances at Brienne. She glares at him.

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks.” Jaime turns and walks back the way he came. Sansa watches him go.

**X**

“She hasn’t talked to me since the fifth-fucking-grade,” Jaime tells Addam after practice that night. He’d made the mistake of asking what the hell was up with “that Tarth chick.”

“Hasn’t talked to me, and then sics fucking Sansa Stark on me for saying hi, like I’m the one who did something wrong.” Jaime kicks at some gravel that’s been deposited on the asphalt of the track.

“That’s fucked up, man,” Addam says. He pops open a can of coke and passes it to Jaime. “Why even try?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime says.

“That’s fine,” Addam pulls another can out of the trunk of his car and leans against the bumper. “Sometimes you’ve gotta deal with shit.”

“I guess.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday. Are you coming to the thing after the game?”

“What thing?”

“The party. Baelish is hosting--we’re gonna trash his place.”

Jaime pretends to think about it before he agrees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a weird middling chapter. I just wanted to write something and get the story moving again, but I hope you guys enjoy! Also: sorry about the weird tense shifts. I'll be going back through this next week and changing things so it all correlates.

**Author's Note:**

> I live and breathe by the headcanon that baby Jaime is, in fact, a giant friendship loving marshmallow, so please forgive any ooc-ness in this chapter!


End file.
